


You got laid, didn't you?

by plethodon_cinereus



Category: The Expanse (TV), The Expanse Series - James S. A. Corey
Genre: Awkwardness, Bisexual Amos, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Book 2: Caliban's War, Caliban's War, Canon Compliant, Domestic, Domestic Boyfriends, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, No Smut, One Shot, Prax is a walking anxiety attack, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Tycho Station, it's canon and you can't tell me otherwise, oh my god they were roommates, they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plethodon_cinereus/pseuds/plethodon_cinereus
Summary: Amos is sharing a room with Prax while they're on Tycho after leaving Ganymede. They definitely slept together and we all know it. I sort of combined two scenes involving these three, but the line used as a title is from the book. Also in the book we see Prax staring down a half naked Amos. So here it is.
Relationships: Amos Burton/Praxidike Meng
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	You got laid, didn't you?

Prax was woken up by the white noise of the shower. It took him a moment to get his bearings after being pulled from yet another nightmare spent wandering the collapsing corridors of Ganymede. The room was small but not confining; there was residual warmth from another person’s body head on the sheets by his side. Amos. That’s right. He’s in Amos’s room on Tycho, where he’s been the past couple nights. He shakes his head; he should be used to sleeping here by now. But Prax has a feeling that by the time he gets used to this place, the Rocinante will be up and running again and he’ll have to get used to that again.  
He gets dressed in his borrowed jumpsuit that’s laughably big on him. The exact opposite of Naomi’s problem, Prax is at least a head shorter than whoever they were designed for. The sleeves extend past his hands and fabric pools at his feet. That’s got to be some sort of occupational hazard.  
Amos is just coming out of the shower when Prax enters the kitchen. That is, Amos is coming out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel. Prax feels his face bloom red. Even after last night, the sight of the man’s exposed body is… exciting. He can’t help getting flustered after having been single for four years. Amos is the first person he’s been with since Nicola.  
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he scoffs, the laugh involuntarily flexing his impressively chiseled core. The massive scar running along the length of his midsection is more obvious in the light; Prax can see it’s whitened with age. He wonders what could have caused it. The image is ruined by that god-awful tattoo of some young woman on his side.  
“Sorry,” Prax bites his lip and looks away.  
“Dude, I’m kidding,” Amos rolls his eyes and leans towards him. Prax looks up at him and laughs dryly. He’s awkward and he knows it; but since Amos hasn’t dropped him by now, a little awkwardness isn’t going to scare him off. Prax would have thought he’d head for the hills after seeing him have a panic attack for the third time or pull a gun that he doesn’t know how to shoot in a room of heavily armed strangers. Somehow Amos has stuck around.  
After a few more moments of Prax trying his very best to not stare at the man’s expanse of muscles and scars, Amos just laughs and shakes his head.  
“You’re adorable,” he says under his breath.  
“What?”  
“I said you’re a dork.” He ducks back into the bedroom and gets dressed in a jumpsuit identical to Prax’s, though much better fitting. So that’s who they’re made for: buff earther mechanics.  
Prax pours two mugs of coffee and hands one to Amos when he comes back. They sit across from each other at the little kitchen table and he almost has to laugh at the domesticity of the scene. Not even a two weeks ago he was wandering the halls of Ganymede, dehydrated and half-starved, disoriented to the point of psychosis. Sure, he’s plagued by nightmares and slips right back into the horrific loop in his mind whenever he’s alone, but the past few days have done wonders for him. Prax almost feels human.  
They stay like that for almost an hour, making small talk. Amos even pays attention to Prax’s convoluted rants about the challenges of growing soybeans in low gravity. In a moment of boldness, he reaches across the table and places his hand on Amos’s. His knuckles are calloused and scarred, but warm. Amos contentedly squeezes his hand around Prax’s, making him blush once again.  
They’re interrupted by a knock on the door that was more of a courtesy than anything because two seconds later it’s flung open by Holden. Of course. Amos had given him a key to the rooms as well in case he got tired of staying on the ship. And Holden isn’t exactly known for his reservation or carefulness. At least he didn’t try to come in last night.  
“Hey guys,” Holden says as he comes right in and makes himself at home leaning against the counter. Prax quickly jerks his hand out of Amos’s and leans back, flustered even more by the end of the tender moment than he had been at its initiation.  
“Sup, Cap,” Amos greets him with a half-wave. His expression would look neutral to a stranger, but to anyone who knows him is the equivalent of an outright grin. He somehow manages to smile with his eyes while maintaining what would politely be called a resting bitch face. “Do anything fun last night? I’m assuming you didn’t since I didn’t get called in to kick anyone’s ass for ya.”  
Holden raises an eyebrow as he looks over the two men. Prax really, really hopes his poker face isn’t as terrible as he thinks it is. On his part, Amos just looks bemused.  
“You seem happy,” Holden says.  
“Yup,” Amos shrugs nonchalantly. Prax busies himself by taking a long sip of his coffee.  
“You got laid, didn’t you?” Holden looks at Amos with the biggest, most self-satisfied shit eating grin he’s ever seen. Prax chokes on his coffee and ends up doubled over in a coughing fit. He eventually catches his breath and looks up to see both men laughing at him.  
“Okay there, doc?” Amos chuckles.  
“All good,” he replies in a hoarse voice.  
Holden pushes himself off the counter. “Well, on that note, I’m gonna go see how the ship’s coming along.” He pauses and looks Amos up and down, “Looks like we’re gonna be here for a couple more nights, dude. So you can have a little reunion with what ever hot young piece you paid last night.”  
If Prax weren’t already mortified, he would be drowning in secondhand embarrassment at the captain’s assumption that Amos was picking up hookers. Is that better or worse than sleeping with the crazy man he rescued from a crumbling station? Is the idea of Amos sleeping with a guy like Prax more or less off-the-rails than a hooker? He almost doesn’t want to know.  
“Who says I paid?” Amos deadpans. Prax’s internal freak-out intensifies. Holy shit, is he about to just up and tell the captain about them? They haven’t even discussed it between themselves!  
“Sure, buddy. Whatever you say,” Holden scoffs.  
The second that he closes the door, Prax expectantly stares Amos down from across the table. The man just shakes his head and chuckles.  
“Don’t worry about it, doc. The captain doesn’t know my type,” he winks.


End file.
